Time travelling in mental highways,
He adorns his past self unselfconsciously
And not just see it through sepia-tinted glasses.
Unlearning the weary world's diktats,
He rediscovers the happiness of half a myth ago.
The grass has been losing its green over the years,
The crick in the neck thus not pure sentimentalism.
Rendered necessary by an age that he did not understand,
Or an age that did not understand the likes of him.
These journies are conducted everyday behind countless glazed eyes,
The witch Memory assists with her protean charm -
Wiping out the unnecessary and repressed,
With as much ease as putting up blow-ups of the happy and peaceful.
Unfortunately, the frequent trips -
To and fro,
Past and present,
Come and go,
Live and relive -
Spoilt the time machine...
And now he hangs in a limbo,
Trapped in his own head.